time Sybil was
eight and Désirée nine it was seldom that anyone, even strangers and new teachers,
mixed them up. Sybil’s nose became more sharp and pronounced while Désirée’s
seemed to sink into her plump cheeks like a painted-on nose. Only on a few
occasions, and only on dark winter afternoons between the last of three o’clock
daylight and the coming on of lights all over the school, was Sybil mistaken
for Désirée.
Between Sybil’s ninth
year and her tenth Désirée’s family came to live in her square. The residents’
children were taken to the gardens of the square after school by mothers and nursemaids,
and were bidden to play with each other nicely. Sybil regarded the intrusion of
Désirée sulkily, and said she preferred her book. She cheered up, however, when
a few weeks later the Dobell boys came to live in the square. The two Dobells
had dusky-rose skins and fine dark eyes. It appeared the father was half
Indian.
How Sybil adored the
Dobells! They were a new type of playmate in her experience, so jumping and
agile, and yet so gentle, so unusually courteous. Their dark skins were never
dirty, a fact which Sybil obscurely approved. She did not then mind Désirée
joining in their games; the Dobell boys were a kind of charm against despair,
for they did not understand stupidity and so did not notice Désirée’s.
The girl lacked mental
stamina, could not keep up an imaginative game for long, was shrill and apt to
kick her playmates unaccountably and on the sly; the Dobells reacted to this
with a simple resignation. Perhaps the lack of opposition was the reason that
Désirée continually shot Sybil dead, contrary to the rules, whenever she felt
like it.
Sybil resented with the
utmost passion the repeated daily massacre of herself before the time was ripe.
It was useless for Jon Dobell to explain, ‘Not yet, Désirée. Wait, wait,
Désirée. She’s not to be shot down yet. She hasn’t crossed the bridge yet, and
you can’t shoot her from there, anyway — there’s a big boulder between you and
her. You have to creep round it, and Hugh has a shot at you first, and he
thinks he’s got you, but only your hat. And …’
It was no use. Each day
before the game started the four sat in conference on the short dry prickly
grass. The proceedings were agreed. The game was on. ‘Got it all clear,
Désirée?’
‘Yes,’ she said, every
day. Désirée shouted and got herself excited, she made foolish sounds even when
supposed to be stalking the bandits through the silent forest. A few high
screams and then, ‘Bang-bang,’ she yelled, aiming at Sybil, ‘you’re dead.’
Sybil obediently rolled over, protesting none the less that the game had only
begun, while the Dobells sighed, ‘Oh, Désirée!’
Sybil vowed to herself
each night, I will do the same to her. Next time — tomorrow if it isn’t raining
— I will bang-bang her before she has a chance to hang her panama on the bough
as a decoy. I will say bang-bang on her out of turn, and I will do her dead
before her time.
But on no succeeding
tomorrow did Sybil bring herself to do this. Her pride before the Dobells was
more valuable than the success of the game. Instead, with her cleverness, Sybil
set herself to avoid Désirée’s range for as long as possible. She dodged behind
the laurels and threw out a running commentary as if to a mental defective,
such as, ‘I’m in disguise, all in green, and no one can see me among the trees.’
But still Désirée saw her. Désirée’s eyes insisted on penetrating solid
mountains. ‘I’m half a mile away from everyone,’ Sybil cried as Désirée’s gun
swivelled relentlessly upon her.
I shall refuse to be
dead, Sybil promised herself. I’ll break the rule. If it doesn’t count with her
why should it count with me? I won’t roll over any more when she bangs you’re
dead to me. Next time, tomorrow if it isn’t raining …
But Sybil simply did
roll over. When Join and Hugh Dobell called out
eight and Désirée nine it was seldom that anyone, even strangers and new teachers,
mixed them up. Sybil’s nose became more sharp and pronounced while Désirée’s
seemed to sink into her plump cheeks like a painted-on nose. Only on a few
occasions, and only on dark winter afternoons between the last of three o’clock
daylight and the coming on of lights all over the school, was Sybil mistaken
for Désirée.
Between Sybil’s ninth
year and her tenth Désirée’s family came to live in her square. The residents’
children were taken to the gardens of the square after school by mothers and nursemaids,
and were bidden to play with each other nicely. Sybil regarded the intrusion of
Désirée sulkily, and said she preferred her book. She cheered up, however, when
a few weeks later the Dobell boys came to live in the square. The two Dobells
had dusky-rose skins and fine dark eyes. It appeared the father was half
Indian.
How Sybil adored the
Dobells! They were a new type of playmate in her experience, so jumping and
agile, and yet so gentle, so unusually courteous. Their dark skins were never
dirty, a fact which Sybil obscurely approved. She did not then mind Désirée
joining in their games; the Dobell boys were a kind of charm against despair,
for they did not understand stupidity and so did not notice Désirée’s.
The girl lacked mental
stamina, could not keep up an imaginative game for long, was shrill and apt to
kick her playmates unaccountably and on the sly; the Dobells reacted to this
with a simple resignation. Perhaps the lack of opposition was the reason that
Désirée continually shot Sybil dead, contrary to the rules, whenever she felt
like it.
Sybil resented with the
utmost passion the repeated daily massacre of herself before the time was ripe.
It was useless for Jon Dobell to explain, ‘Not yet, Désirée. Wait, wait,
Désirée. She’s not to be shot down yet. She hasn’t crossed the bridge yet, and
you can’t shoot her from there, anyway — there’s a big boulder between you and
her. You have to creep round it, and Hugh has a shot at you first, and he
thinks he’s got you, but only your hat. And …’
It was no use. Each day
before the game started the four sat in conference on the short dry prickly
grass. The proceedings were agreed. The game was on. ‘Got it all clear,
Désirée?’
‘Yes,’ she said, every
day. Désirée shouted and got herself excited, she made foolish sounds even when
supposed to be stalking the bandits through the silent forest. A few high
screams and then, ‘Bang-bang,’ she yelled, aiming at Sybil, ‘you’re dead.’
Sybil obediently rolled over, protesting none the less that the game had only
begun, while the Dobells sighed, ‘Oh, Désirée!’
Sybil vowed to herself
each night, I will do the same to her. Next time — tomorrow if it isn’t raining
— I will bang-bang her before she has a chance to hang her panama on the bough
as a decoy. I will say bang-bang on her out of turn, and I will do her dead
before her time.
But on no succeeding
tomorrow did Sybil bring herself to do this. Her pride before the Dobells was
more valuable than the success of the game. Instead, with her cleverness, Sybil
set herself to avoid Désirée’s range for as long as possible. She dodged behind
the laurels and threw out a running commentary as if to a mental defective,
such as, ‘I’m in disguise, all in green, and no one can see me among the trees.’
But still Désirée saw her. Désirée’s eyes insisted on penetrating solid
mountains. ‘I’m half a mile away from everyone,’ Sybil cried as Désirée’s gun
swivelled relentlessly upon her.
I shall refuse to be
dead, Sybil promised herself. I’ll break the rule. If it doesn’t count with her
why should it count with me? I won’t roll over any more when she bangs you’re
dead to me. Next time, tomorrow if it isn’t raining …
But Sybil simply did
roll over. When Join and Hugh Dobell called out
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